


Liminal Magic

by JiraiyaWhitney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Present Tense, Unbeta'd, do people still tag things as oneshot, i wrote this three years ago and never posted it plz b nice 2 me, it's been so long since i uploaded anything that honestly im not sure anymore, liminal spaces, mediwizard!Draco, timezone changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiraiyaWhitney/pseuds/JiraiyaWhitney
Summary: They keep meeting in these spaces where the world is quiet. Sometimes, that quiet is the transition that's needed to start something fresh. New.





	Liminal Magic

**The Playground**  
**0341 UTC**

It’s not empty, but it is. The stars glitter off the metal of the playgym and the chain of the swing. The swing itself is left to float gently in the night air, which is so crisp it tastes like water, but warm enough that the puff of breath that floats out from his lips is meaningless in this odd, timeless, senseless world.

          The last place that Harry expected to see Draco Malfoy at is in the middle of the playground that Harry used to spend his summers confined to, when his uncle and aunt had kicked him out another day; the last place he expected to see Draco Malfoy – because in this odd, pre-dawn world, neither Draco nor Malfoy exist alone – is in this breathless space of time between the zephyrs that should be blowing every few seconds, but feel as if hours pass between each puff.

          Draco Malfoy hears him approach, but Harry’s not sure how; it was, after all, silent when he approached.

          Seven puffs of air escape the blond’s mouth before the next zephyr brushes through. There are crisp, almost-solid bits of ice forming on those long, colourless eyelashes. Harry wishes nothing more than to reach across the endless expanse of seven long, harsh centimeters and to brush them away, but Draco Malfoy is both too close and too far in this pre-dawn world of sleeping crickets and lazy stars, immobile and breathless if not for the zephyr.

          A pink nub of a tongue tastes the air through Draco Malfoy’s parted lips – or maybe it’s wetting soaked lips, or it’s sending a signal to Harry’s brain, but whatever the case, it slips through those parted lips, and Draco Malfoy looks utterly, ravishingly, breathtakingly, comfortable in his Muggle jeans and Muggle band shirt, trainers unlaced as they are, content to merely exist in this world, where the sun will never rise and the sound of words cannot be intercepted less this strange, floating, ethereal feeling be broken;

          They do not breathe.

          They do not touch, nor taste, nor dare to linger. They do not breathe, and though the zephyr breathes for them, they hold their breath so time stands still.

          Harry thinks this is the most peaceful he has felt, staring into those silvery, sparkly blue eyes that night, morning, happenstance.

          Neither of them remembers who moved first, and neither remembers which way the other one left to.

**Saint Mungos**  
**0003 UTC**

There might still be blood on his skin, somewhere. It certainly itches like there is, but no amount of bathing or spellwork makes him feel clean. It’s this itch that drives him from his bed at this deathly hour where all should be silent and dreaming.

          He walks through the halls aimlessly, hoping to work free the tension of rest in time to fall asleep at a reasonable hour, but instead finds that the half-lit halls feel ominous, far more foreboding than it ever felt during the war, and he instantly remembers the weightlessness of the park so long ago, only now it’s like corners are forming out of themselves and behind every shadow is a new shadow that made the last seem like the North Star, and the weight of the park had been transported through time and space to weigh double on him now, dragging him back to the safety of his room, which may not be as safe as he had thought before, if this is the danger that lurks outside, so he keeps going, going, going, moving, forcing one foot to slide on the floor to the next and the next and the next and –

          And he stops. At the end of the hall is a window whose spellwork has died, revealing the Muggle building across the alley, the dingey brick and cracked mortar that looks so much like art from over here, so much like a spider that has traced its way across the ceiling and back to depict valiant wars and insufferable strife.

          He only turns when he feels the eyes upon him. He turns to see the same blond that had been there last time approaching, looking almost awestruck in the silence. His hair is tossled every which way, as if he has slept no better than Harry had tonight. But in the oddness of this room, in the unnatural, unnerving silence of the hospital so often bustling with sounds and colours and noises to deafen and migraine so many others, it feels as though this blond that has joined him on his journey to self-discovery before has no name, but has merely _always_ existed at his side, wearing white, unstained trainers and the feathery yellow robing of mediwizards hanging loose, almost two sizes too big.

          They stand side-against-side, the warmth of the other beside them scaring off the corners that grew of corners and dimming the shadows that grew from themselves, leaving only the emptiness hanging about them.

          The mediwizard whose name he can’t bear to think in the heavy weight of this midnight walks him back to his room when his knees try to give out and when he tries not to go down, but can’t resist anyway. At his room door, he pauses, too weak not to, and can’t deny it to himself when he focuses on the mediwizard’s lips more than his eyes, and wonders what it would feel like to lose himself, once and for all.

**The Airport**  
**0129 UTC**

It’s empty, but it shouldn’t be. The last flight, the one that should have landed an hour ago, only landed twenty minutes ago because of the weather, but they’re fueling now, getting ready to board. Harry hasn’t seen anyone else yet, but the beeping of the terminals is deafening in the silence, stirring at the few people unfortunate enough to have fallen asleep.

          He doesn’t suppose he should be surprised, when he turns to see if he can board and finds that floofy blond head staring at an empty screen, as if will alone would make it say they could board a plane.

          This time, he does utter a name, but the hoarse whisper sounds like a desperate wail in the silence; it’s the only time he’s addressed the other with his given name, no surname involved, and he desperately hopes it won’t be the last.

          There are ripped jeans and a jacket involved with a pajama shirt. Comfortability is clearly prioritized right now, in this silent, rained-in airport when everyone should be getting on with their lives, but this place is the same as a layover on steroids; a layover for someone’s life, the place between, where two parts meet –

          Where two parts meet to change directions; where two parts meet in the middle, spurred on by Harry’s hand held outward and edged on only by the firm grasp that takes it.

          They don’t move much, not from that spot; their hands are interlinked and the terminal is empty of meaningful life; they’re waiting for the plane to whisk them away to a land they’ve never been before, a land where their past won’t get to them, even for a little while.

          Outside, the rain pitter patters on the windows, and inside the jarring beeping won’t stop, but it’s another breathless moment of wonder as they hold onto one another. Waiting. Seeing. Watching. Experiencing. Living.

**The Roof**  
**2351 UTC -7**

It’s the first time he understands why a phoenix chooses to burn anew every so many years, becoming a new version of itself every time the cycle should be completed, and it’s fitting that it should happen in the city of its namesake, he thinks.

          The stars glimmer as they did the night they met in the park, but there is no water in the air to bunch on their eyelashes or chill their lips, but instead vivid, vivacious heat curling against their backs and sides, luring them together to find that even that feels like they’re in the heat of themselves. The stars are above them and the sleepy nighttime is below them, the roof of the hotel empty, the pool on the ground floor being splashes about in lazily by another customer of the hotel that the two of them checked into, together, checked into the room together,

          Checked into the same bed together.

          It’s the third day in a row that they should have spent all this time together, which is no record for some couples without their history, but their history is a strong, vibrant thing that thrums beneath their skin at every pass of the other’s fingertips across them –

          But what had once been dread and anger feels like fire and passion, like a million hot, open mouthed kisses pressed to the underside of his skin. The only one to see it as his partner pushes him onto his back is Orion, who winks from behind tantalizing clouds, and the eye of Draco, who beckons Tartarus towards them both, urging them behind the caged walls of the other’s skin, making them lose themselves in the other in this weird, nonexistent, existent state of nothingness that only comes from being a stranger in a strange land.

**The Parking Lot**  
**0538 UTC -7**

Their flight will depart some time from now, in the distant future sometime at the end of the week, but for now they’re standing alone in the parking lot, surrounded only by empty white lines and broken sidewalk and over-filled ashtrays that no one has had the decency to clean.

          But for now, they’re looking over the rolling hill of red rock, towards the valley pass that will take them higher and higher, to elevations they’re kin to, where the world will once again breathe and the weight of their responsibilities will soon weigh on them –

          But for now, they’re looking over the rolling hill of red rock, towards the vibrating life of natural artifices, towards the next step in their story together, long or short as it will be, as an end will be forcibly endured sooner or later –

          But for now, they’re hand in hand, standing in the empty parking lot, where it feels like it’s weightless and like time won’t stop spinning, waiting for the next shot to happen, the next panic to occur, the next need to be fulfilled –

          But for now, they’re hand in hand, enjoying the presence of the other in their attempt to enjoy the world around them, and that includes the living rock and the swirling eddies of air and so much more that can only be felt and experienced, like something should have directly fed their souls the pieces they’ve been missing for so long –

          But for now, they’re hand in hand, watching the sun rise over the red rock, casting a golden and pink sunrise across the blue-white sky, experiencing the sites of this part of the world before theirs beckons back –

          But for now, they’re hand in hand, arm against arm, existing in peace and harmony, experiencing for one of the first times the most naturally formed bonds of magic to have ever existed.


End file.
